


Gâteau de la Mer

by ryukoishida



Series: You Are the Cream in my Coffee [4]
Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto is secretly learning how to make cupcakes for someone’s birthday; Nagisa finds out and is determined to help his boss woo the man he has a crush on by teaching him some baking tricks. Haruka may be secretly pleased about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gâteau de la Mer

            “Thanks for your hard work,” Makoto waves the barista and kitchen helper off as the sounds of the duo’s fevered conversation about one thing or another rise and fall behind the closed door. The pastry chef had left shortly before the younger staff, after Makoto told him to go ahead instead of waiting for him. He can’t remember who has initiated the routine first, but for a few months now, Makoto and Haruka had been walking to the train station together until they had to split up to take different trains.

 

            According to the clock above the coffee bar, it’s currently 11:23p.m., and the café, in the stilled silence of the after hours when patrons and staff have all gone home, feels almost like a separate world on its own. The nutty and fruity scents of the day’s baked goods linger like drifting spirits refusing to move on, and choose to dance a dreamy, hazy waltz with the dying coffee aromas until they both dissipate in each other’s arms.

 

            Makoto stifles a yawn, slaps his face lightly with both hands in an attempt to wake himself up, and mutters, “All right, let’s do this.” He makes his way towards the kitchen, flicking back on the lights that Haruka has left shut. The white luminescence makes him blink a few times due to the sudden brightness.

 

            They say that three time’s the charm, and as Makoto retrieves the required equipment and ingredients, he really hopes that’s the case because the first time he had tried doing this, he had almost burned down the whole damn shop.

 

            Makoto reads through the measurements and steps of the recipe one more time before proceeding, making sure that he’s got everything correct this time.

 

            Once he gets started, he begins to let his mind wander, hands automatically doing what the recipe instructs as Rin’s words from their short conversation during the festival a few days ago play in his head repeatedly.

 

            “Try not to fuck it up.” Rin’s voice may be light and teasing at the time, but behind those playful words, Makoto can sense the man’s quiet threat and protectiveness.

 

            Makoto heaves an agitated sigh, beating the eggs into the mixing bowl and stirs a little lifelessly. “How can I fuck it up where there’s no basis for me to fuck with?”

 

            “Fuck with who?”

 

            “Shit!” The whisk clatters to the floor along with sticky strands of half-beaten eggs. “Nagisa, what the hell are you doing here?”

 

            Standing by the kitchen’s double doors with a kind of all-too-pleased-with-himself, smug grin on his face is the blond-haired man, his messenger bag slung across his slender shoulder.

 

            “I forgot something,” Nagisa replies innocently and waves the blue A4 folder that he picks up from the closest metal counter to the doors. “It’s the notes that I got from Haru-chan today, but that’s beside the point. A better question right now would be: Mako-chan, what are you doing secretly in the kitchens after closing hours? Or better yet: who are you thinking of fucking?”

 

            Before Makoto can stutter out a reply, Nagisa’s eyes widen at the mess Makoto had made in a short span of – he glances at his watch and quickly estimates – approximately ten minutes: flour is sprinkled haphazardly all over the work surface and in his hair, bowls and measuring utensils are scattered everywhere with a few askew and liquids are drizzling out into tiny pools, and thanks to Nagisa, there are now also a puddle of raw egg liquid and a defeated metal whisk by Makoto’s feet.

 

            “Ah, I see,” he merely says with a knowing smirk, placing his bag and folder down by the entrance and goes to where Makoto is standing, rather ludicrously, with a mixing bowl in one hand and fingers dripping in egg batter on the other.

 

            “What? What do you see? Why are you smiling like that? What do you want?” He places the bowl sturdily down on the table in case the blond makes any sudden movement, which wouldn’t surprise Makoto at this point, and backs away apprehensively when he observes the devilish glint in Nagisa’s cerise eyes. Nothing good ever comes of that expression, Makoto has first-hand experience so don’t even question him.

 

            “You are making a cake for someone,” Nagisa declares in a sing-song voice, “and not just anymore. It’s someone special, isn’t it? Who is it?”

 

            “Did anybody ever tell you that you’re super nosy?” Makoto sighs, but doesn’t deny any of the blond’s statements.

 

            “It’s one of my many winning traits,” Nagisa boasts half-jokingly.

 

            “We’ll have to ask Rei-chan about that, won’t we?” It’s Makoto’s turn to give the other man a sly grin, but it hardly perturbs Nagisa.

 

            “I won’t even dignify you with an answer.”

 

            “Fair enough.”

 

            The two men stare at each other wordlessly for a few seconds, then their gazes simultaneously shift to the mess on the table.

 

            “If I teach you a simple recipe that has a 99% success rate, even for a novice like yourself, will you tell me who this is for?” Makoto gives him a calculating look, and then visibly winces at the failure waiting to happen on the disaster that is currently the work table; Makoto figures he doesn’t really have anything to lose.

 

            “Oh, fine. It’s not like I can hide this forever,” he sounds rather beaten, head hanging low between his shoulders.

 

            “That’s the spirit!” Nagisa pats the brunet’s back soothingly with a delighted laugh, and starts to clean up the table so that they can begin anew.

 

           Nagisa has decided to teach the owner how to make vanilla cupcake with sea salt chocolate frosting, but first, the blond firmly asserts that Makoto needs to become proficient with the cake itself before moving onto the decorative aspect. Makoto knows that he has only a week to master the new recipe, and it’s this time pressure and utter perseverance to make a batch of edible cupcakes that’s fuelling him.

 

            “This person must be really special to Mako-chan,” Nagisa comments casually as he instructs Makoto to properly cream the butter and sugar until the mixture is light and fluffy.

 

            Makoto exclaims a curse when a splatter of butter lands on his cheek, before asking, “Why do you say that?”

 

            “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Nagisa helps him fix the angle the brunet is holding the electric mixer. “You told me your father had tried to teach you how to bake when you were younger, but you almost somehow caused the oven to explode, so you were reluctant to step inside a kitchen since then. Only a person who matters a lot to you can have the power to make you overcome such a strong dislike of cooking.”

 

            “You do have a point,” Makoto admits, handing the bowl for the blond to inspect. When he nods with an encouraging smile, Makoto begins to crack the eggs into the bowl. “I guess I came to care about him more than I thought. It was just a silly, little crush at first, you know? But then the more time I spend with him, the more I want to know about him, and now it’s just a damn mess because I don’t think he feels the same way, or if he even notices th—”

 

            “Mako-chan, watch it!”

 

            Makoto has been too caught up in his passionate speech that he fails to realize he’s been beating the mixture so hard that almost half of the contents are spilled and ended up on the floor or the tabletop.

 

            “Goddamnit.” There is no fire or frustration in the small curse, just a hint of defeat.

 

            “It’s getting late,” Nagisa gently nudges the silent man beside him. “Let’s call it a night and we can practice again tomorrow, okay, Mako-chan?”

 

            “You didn’t have to do this,” Makoto says with a weak smile, though he’s thankful for the man’s company and help nevertheless.

 

            “I know,” Nagisa shrugs with a toothy grin, grabbing the mob to clean the mess on the floor while Makoto deals with the table. “But I want to. You work so hard everyday and keep so many burdens to yourself, and I know you’re our boss and everything, but we also see you as a friend – part of the family. If it weren’t for you, Mako-chan, I’d still be stuck working at a job I feel indifferent about. And I’d never get to meet you, or Rei-chan, or learn from Haru-chan. So let me help this time. It’s the least I can do.”

 

            “Thanks, Nagisa,” Makoto ruffles the blond’s hair affectionately with a small smile, which earns him a giggle from Nagisa in return, as they both go back to the task of cleaning up before dragging their tired bodies home for the night.

 

-

 

            “What have you been up to for the last few nights anyway?” Haruka asks as they step out into the humid heat of a June night. Makoto almost drops his keys.

 

            “Uh, what do you mean?” He quickly stuffs his keys into his backpack, straightens his back with a deep breath, and runs a few steps to catch up with the dark-haired man.

 

            Haruka looks over at him, a small glare aiming at his direction. “You know exactly what I mean. And don’t tell me it’s paper work either. I’ve noticed that some of the supplies are depleting at a faster rate than usual; that means somebody other than myself had been using them. Nagisa wouldn’t tell me anything.” There’s a small frown etched on his brows and if the weak lighting of the streets isn’t playing tricks on Makoto’s eyesight, he’d even say that the usually impassive man is, in fact, pouting a little.

 

            “It’s – it’s just an experiment I’m working on,” Makoto tells him a half-truth. “I’m doing it after store hours because I didn’t want to trouble you guys.”

 

            Haruka hums but otherwise doesn’t comment. Makoto wonders if he’d said the wrong thing. It’s not like he can tell him he’s trying to perfect his cupcake-making skills in order to make it in time for Haruka’s birthday, which happens to be the day after tomorrow; it’s meant to be a surprise after all. He, Nagisa, and Rei had also decided a few days ago that they will hold a small party after the coffee shop has closed that night.

 

            “I meant what I said, you know.” Haruka isn’t looking at him, his eyes keep focusing at something further away down the road – a streetlight, a glowing window of a building. “That you can tell me anything.”

 

           There’s something that’s been clawing inside Makoto’s head for the past few days since his meeting with Rin, but there’s never a good time to bring it up, especially when they were both busy in the café during operation hours. Haruka’s open invitation is the perfect opportunity to find out what he’s been wondering, yet he isn’t sure if he’ll like the answer either. Besides, whether or not Haruka considers Makoto merely as his manager or even a friend, asking about one’s ambiguous relationship with their ex-boyfriend – and thus, indirectly asking about one’s relationship status – whilst walking to the train station late at night seems a bit obvious, not to mention rather indelicate and rude if the topic just pops out of nowhere.

 

            “Rin-san told me that he’s asked you to work for a new patisserie with him,” Makoto begins, his fingers tapping an unknown rhythm on the side of his legs and he hopes that the near-darkness can conceal this nervous gesture of his.

 

            “I’ve rejected him,” Haruka replies too quickly, and he seems to notice that, too, because he clamps his mouth shut immediately after that.

 

            “But why? It’s such a good opportunity for you, isn’t it? More people will be able to taste your magnificent pastries if you decide to establish your career in a city like Tokyo. Isn’t that the point of being a chef – to let as many people enjoy your creations?”

 

            “Maybe that’s the case for most people in this industry,” Haruka blows out a slow, even breath, and at his next words, he can’t help but smile a little self-depreciatively, the expression so foreign on the man’s face that Makoto is a bit taken aback. “But if you haven’t already noticed, Makoto, I’m pretty self-indulgent when it comes to making pastries. I do whatever I enjoy and feel comfortable with, and I…”

 

            “You only bake free,” Makoto remembers his words from his interview months ago and grins. It’s still amusing even to this day.

 

            Haruka groans, a hand covering half of his face where his cheeks are burning slightly at the memory. “I was hoping you’d have forgotten about that. I didn’t know what came over me – it was the first thing I thought of and it just came out of my mouth.”

 

            “It’s golden,” Makoto assures him with a chuckle.

 

            After a short moment of just shoe soles scraping against pavement, Haruka continues, “Anyway, what I meant to say is that I really like working here with you – and Rei and Nagisa – even though sometimes I feel like throwing measuring cups at Nagisa when he gets too noisy. When I see the patrons’ smiles after eating my pastries, or when Rei’s finally convinced that not all sweets are evil because of the fig spice cake that I made, or when Nagisa makes so much improvement, and…” Haruka swallows hard, suddenly unsure whether or not he should keep going but it’s as if his brain-to-mouth filter has left him to fend for his own because the following words come tumbling out, “and when you compliment and get excited about my new recipes, I – I feel really happy. I can’t imagine working anywhere else.”

 

            Haruka turns his head sideways to watch the road, which only has the occasional vehicles passing by once in a long while, as he pulls on the strap of his messenger bag unnecessarily. The brunet can’t see Haruka biting his lips in apprehension, or the blush that’s spreading a burning trail from the tips of his ears to his chest hidden by the thin t-shirt he’s wearing; what Makoto can detect is the soft earnestness in the other man’s tone, and that’s all he really needs to know.

 

            “Wow, Haru. I think that’s the first time you’ve spoken that much all at once. I’m in awe,” Makoto guffaws while words struggle to come out as he tries to calm down, but when he sees the dark-haired man turns back to glare at him, it only triggers more laughter from the brunet.

 

            “I was being serious, and here you are, making fun of me,” Haruka begins to walk faster, his strides wide with irritation.

 

            “Wait, wait, Haru! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry,” Makoto runs after him, which in itself is an easy task because of his long legs, and also because Haruka isn’t trying half as hard as he can to get away. His laughter lingers in the evening air like sparkling stardust when he reaches the shorter man within a few seconds and they both slow down their pace again.

 

            The train station is not far off now. Makoto counts two more street corners.

 

            “No matter what your reasons are,” Makoto says, and Haruka glances over just to see a gentle smile that makes his eyes a more vibrant green even under the dim lighting, “I’m just – I’m really glad that you’ve decided to stay with us.” The brunet turns around, and Haruka thinks to himself at that moment how unfair this whole situation is: Makoto just smiling down at him like Haruka’s resolve to stay is the best news he’s heard, like he’s somewhat relieved – as if he was afraid of Haruka’s leaving in the first place, but maybe Haruka’s just letting his imagination run wild again because Makoto is kind to everyone, so of course he’d be concerned if he heard that one of his employees might be leaving.

 

It’s not because Haruka is special to him or anything – at least, not as far as Haruka knows. And oh, how little does he know sometimes.

 

            “Haru!”

 

            “Yes?” It seems like Makoto has been calling his name quite a few times already with no response from the man deep in thought; the brunet sends him a worried glance. Without Haruka’s noticing, they are already at the station; Makoto is supposed to go right to take the other line but he doesn’t make a move. Instead, they are both walking in the direction of the platform where the train that Haruka usually takes will stop.

 

            “Are you okay? Your train’s almost here.” The growing roar and wind coming from the darkness of the tunnel warns of the train’s arrival, and Haruka gives him a weak smile, waving a lazy arm as he steps closer to the edge of the platform.

 

            “Just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow, Makoto.”

 

            “Have a good night, Haru.” The doors slide close; Haruka stays by the window as the train gains speed.

 

            Makoto watches the last cart disappears into the curve of the poorly lit channel before making his way back to the other side of the station to take his train, all the while with Haruka’s words replaying in his mind and a light smile that keeps his exhausted body going.

 

-

 

            As Haruka steps out of the break room that also serves as the change room and into the darkened shop front, he notices that the only source of light comes from the manager’s office, the door of which is closed so only a slit of light from under the door can shine through. He wonders if the power’s cut as his hands follows the contours of the walls in order to avoid knocking himself into stray chairs and tables.

 

            “Makoto? Rei? Nagisa?” He squints his eyes as he looks around, which doesn’t really help, but hears no response from his fellow co-workers.

 

            Just a moment ago, when Nagisa was using his inhuman speed to change out of his uniform and into his casual clothes, the blond told him in an atypically stern voice to wait outside at one of the tables and to make sure to stay there. Haruka didn’t even have time to ask what was going on before his apprentice was dashing out, leaving him with a vague, “You’ll see, Haru-chan!”

 

            The pastry chef blindly swaps his arms in front of him, first knocking his elbow against one of table corners and then finally finding the back of a chair, which he pulls over and sits down, taking Nagisa’s advice to stay where he is in case he hurts himself even more.

 

            “This better not be one of Nagisa’s pranks,” Haruka mutters.

 

            “It’s not just me, Haru-chan,” the giggly voice comes from behind him, and Haruka twists around to see the three figures coming towards him, one of them is holding a platter with a flickering candle. “I’ve got some accomplices with me this time.”

 

            “Guys, what…” He stops when he realizes what his friends are doing.

 

            And this is when the singing starts. As the song progresses – Nagisa’s voice being the loudest and most boisterous, though also surprisingly in-tune, among the trio – Rei places the tray before the still stunned dark-haired man, and it turns out that the candle is wedged on top of a cupcake with what looks to be chocolate frosting with bits of half-transparent crystals sprinkled atop and a small white chocolate plaque with the words “Happy birthday, Haruka!” inscribed in a shaky scrawl. Whoever did it must not have had a lot of practice, but something about the childish handwriting makes Haruka smiles just a little.

 

            When they’re done singing and the group is looking at the birthday man expectantly, Haruka turns to the cake once more and is about to blow the candle out when Nagisa stops him, “Wait, Haru-chan! You have to make a wish!”

 

            “But I don’t have anything to wish for,” Haruka tells them, blinking up at the three men with those silent but smiling, sincere eyes. “I already have everything I want.” He blows out the flame to the sounds of Nagisa’s whooping and everyone’s clapping.

 

            Rei flicks the lights back on while Makoto brings out a bottle of champagne and four glasses from behind the coffee bar, much to the blond’s delight as he volunteers to open up the bottle of bubbly.

 

            With the glasses filled full of the pale golden liquid, the four friends stand around the table, arms raised with the glasses in their hands in a somewhat mockingly solemn manner.

 

            “To Haru-chan,” Nagisa starts the toast, winking at Haruka’s direction. He merely shakes his head with a helpless chuckle but doesn’t say anything.

 

            “To good health,” Rei announces.

 

            “To happiness,” Makoto adds.

 

            “To friends,” Haruka makes eye contact with each of them, and when his gaze at last rests on Makoto’s, the corner of his lips quirks up just the slightest. The four of them clink their glasses in unison and drink – Nagisa taking a long, cheerful gulp like a man dying of thirst while the others sipping carefully at the sweet alcohol.

 

            “Nagisa, did you make these?” Haruka sets his glass down and picks up the one cupcake out of the four that are on the silver tray and inspects it closely.

 

            The blond shakes his head with a secretive grin while pouring himself another drink.

 

            “It can’t be Rei,” Haruka mutters to himself, “then it’s…” and he glances at Makoto curiously, who happens to be looking in his direction at the same moment and at the abruptness of the shared gaze, the champagne he’s just drinking goes down the wrong pipe.

 

            “Makoto, are you okay?” Haruka, who’s sitting the closest, pats the brunet’s back in a soothing motion as the poor man coughs, his face growing red due to both the expelling of foreign liquid and utter embarrassment at choking at the worst moment. He waves a hand above his head to show that he’s still alive.

 

            “So Makoto, is this…?” It’s rather funny to witness Haruka – first looking at the cupcake, then at Makoto’s slumping figure as he attempts to gain his breath back – trying to piece the two very unlikely elements together in his head.

 

            Makoto covers his burning face and nods once. Then, Nagisa – bless him – of course has to add his two cents worth.

 

            “Mako-chan’s spent the last few nights working hard on those, you know,” Nagisa babbles, “Said it’s for someone sp—”

 

            “Stop!” The brunet practically jumps over to clamp a hand over Nagisa’s mouth, preventing the blond from saying anything more that would contribute to his reputation being ruined even further (though he figures it’s already too late). “Don’t listen to a thing he says, Haru. I think he might have had a little bit too much to drink.”

 

            “But you did make these?” Haruka asks.

 

            “Well, yeah,” Makoto settles back on his chair, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “So don’t expect it to taste anything as perfect as yours.”

 

            “My cakes are far from perfect,” Haruka tells him, picking up the cupcake again and popping the white chocolate plaque into his mouth. Next, he unwraps the paper from the miniature cake and takes a dainty, careful bite. His eyes have closed as he chews, letting the flavours silently burst and swirl on his tongue.

 

            “How – how is it?” Makoto has no reason to be nervous – but he is, and his fingers are fidgeting with a loose thread on his shirt sleeve – since he doesn’t expect the product to be anywhere close to Haruka’s standards, but as a birthday gift, he hopes it will at least suffice.

 

            Haruka swallows the mouthful and opens his eyes. Maybe it’s the lights, or maybe it’s Makoto getting his hopes high, but there’s something different in Haruka’s cobalt eyes; he doesn’t have a name for it yet, but at least Haruka doesn’t spit the cake right back out. That’s a good sign, right?

 

            “Sea salt and dark chocolate on vanilla – it’s a good combination,” Haruka tells him but he’s looking away from the brunet now so that any clues – any expressions he may have had – can’t be detected by the mystified café owner. “Thank you, Makoto.”

 

            Though Haruka’s back is towards him, a gesture which most people would interpret as one of rudeness or dismissal, Makoto can tell from the man’s soft voice that he meant the words he said. It’s not easy for him to say those words, Makoto knows – to express them so bluntly and openly even in front of friends and co-workers he sees everyday. Makoto has seen the man, who is a genius when it comes to baking and cake decorating, struggles to make small talks with strangers; he just figures from awhile ago that Haruka is more of a man who communicates better with his muse in the form of electric mixers and icing pipes through delicious creations that he craft with his heart day after day.

 

            Words and thoughts that refuse to come out of his mouth, the silent pastry chef chooses to express them through his delicate and graceful sweets instead, and anyone who has ever tasted Haruka’s cakes will bound to feel that stirring inside their chests the moment the flavours rupture on their tongues and enter deeper into their cores.

 

            To Makoto, Haruka’s silence does not necessarily have a negative connotation. Beyond that seemingly aloof façade, Makoto sees something else entirely that he knows not many people have the tolerance or heart to discover.

 

            “You’re welcome,” Makoto says with a warm smile that Haruka doesn’t see, since he’s still trying to look at anywhere but the man himself.

 

            “And Nagisa, Rei… Thank you as well… for the party,” Haruka’s voice grows quieter and quieter with each word and his cheeks grow hotter and hotter until he has to take a swig of the ice-cold champagne in the hopes of dousing the distressing heat.

 

            “Haruka-san…”

 

            “You’re so very welcome, Haru-chan!” Nagisa hops over to where Haruka’s sitting and gives him a tight hug; for a short second, Haruka doesn’t seem to know how to react, but in the end, he gingerly embraces the smaller man in return.

 

            After that, conversations flow more smoothly. It mostly consists of a slightly drunken Nagisa rambling on about his past jobs and the others laughing at the misadventures he had, or Rei exclaiming indignantly about something crazy that Nagisa has done and then just shaking his head with a sort of resigned fondness in his eyes that both Haruka and Makoto happen to notice but which seems to have gotten over the blond’s head due to too many glasses of bubbly drunk too quickly. Most of the time, Haruka is content with just observing and occasionally adding a comment or laughing quietly at something one of them has said while taking sips of the fizzy drink and enjoying the cake.

 

            It’s long past midnight, jokes told and laughter spent, when Nagisa yawns and slumps against Rei’s shoulder with a bodily thud, mumbling against his shirt something about wanting to try Rei-chan’s coffee and after that, any words and mutterings coming out of the man cease to make any sense.

 

            “I guess it’s past someone’s bed time,” Rei chuckles, looking down at the man who has his eyes closed, yet his mouth is somehow still miraculously working out words that none of them comprehends. “I’ll take Nagisa-kun home,” Rei volunteers, getting up with a groan while hauling the blond up with unexpected ease, the drunken man still murmuring but at least he has the mentality to have a steady hold on the taller man’s shoulders.

 

            “Are you sure?” Makoto helps lift some of the weight by supporting the half-conscious Nagisa on the other side.

 

            “I’ll call for a taxi,” Haruka speaks up, and immediately dials a number on his cell-phone.

 

            “Thanks, Haruka-san,” Rei calls out gratefully.

 

            When the taxi arrives a few minutes later and Makoto has seen his two younger employees safely inside the vehicle, the brunet returns inside and begins to clean up the table.

 

            “You go on ahead, or you’ll miss the last train,” Makoto tells Haruka, who’s also gathering some of the utensils.

 

            “So will you,” Haruka points out and heads to the kitchen.

 

            “I can take the late night bus,” Makoto replies, following right behind him.

 

            “So can I,” Haruka insists. They place the dirty dishes into the sink and Makoto turns on the hot water to soak them.

 

            “Haru, none of the busses nearby stop by your place,” Makoto sends him an amused glance before his attention shifts back to the pile of dishes before him, as he squirts a bit of soap on a cloth and begins to wash them.

 

            “I… Well…” Haruka huffs restlessly, unable to find a valid argument this time, until the next words – a product which Haruka will later blame on the alcohol he has consumed earlier and fatigue from work – erupts out of his mouth somewhat unexpectedly for the both of them, “I just want to be by your side, okay?”

 

            Two heartbeats of absolute silence except for the steady stream of hot water still coming out of the faucet.

 

Then three heartbeats in which Makoto’s hands are hovering helplessly over the tub of water, dripping with soapy suds.

 

And on the fifth heartbeat – perhaps it’s Makoto who turns first, or maybe it’s Haruka who reaches out for him, but neither of these facts is of much significance because what matters the most is this: they are facing each other, Makoto’s jade eyes widen in surprise while Haruka’s still blinking blankly at the sentence that just came out of his mouth inadvertently.

 

            “I…” Makoto begins in a soft voice, but after turning off the faucet and wiping his hands with a towel lying nearby, he takes a few steps so that he’s standing before Haruka, his head tilted to the side slightly with bewilderment. “What did you say, Haru? I think I might have misheard you over the running water.”

 

            They both know that it isn’t true.

 

            “I said,” Haruka ducks his head, blue-black bangs covering his eyes, because right now, with the alcohol swimming pleasantly in his blood and his heart beating a little faster than usual, he really cannot handle the intensity of Makoto’s vibrant green eyes, or the fact that the brunet’s glance is drifting between trying to hold his gaze and staring at his mouth. He chews his lower lip but pushes on, “I said I want to be by your side.”

 

            “Haru,” Makoto’s laugh is tense and so is his forced smile, “Did you have a little too much to drink?”

 

            “No, Makoto,” Haruka sighs in a frustrated exhale, and before Makoto realizes what’s going on, the dark-haired man is backing him up against the closest wall, his hands braced against the plaster on both sides of his broad shoulders.

 

            “H-Haru?” He’s standing too close, Haruka’s pale skin emanating subtle waves of heat and every breath he takes sends a surge of moist warmth down the side of his neck. He’s too close and yet, he’s not close enough. Makoto wants to engulf him in his arms, with his mouth, embrace him with his entirety and he really ought not to have drank so damn much because these thoughts that are currently running through his chaotic mind is not helping the situation at all. All he can do is stand there, shaking and trying to hold himself up by sheer will, voluntarily caged in Haruka’s arms.

 

            That escalates quicker than either man has thought.

 

           “I’m a little buzzed from the drink, but I’m sober enough to still be capable of logical thoughts and right now, my logical thought is telling me to kiss you. So, Makoto, what should I do?”

 

            Makoto thinks his brain might have had short-circuited around the time Haruka oh-so-casually mentions his name and kissing in the same sentence; it’s the only explanation why he’s still rooted there, unable to move a limb or croak out a syllable. He swallows hard.

 

            “You’re allowed to say ‘no’, Makoto. Breathe.” His whispered words, puffs of warm air spreading on the exposed skin of cheek, are honest, and though his tone may not show it, Haruka wonders if he had perhaps read Makoto’s signals wrong all this time and has presently just made a total fool of himself.

 

            Deep inside, his heart is trembling. He isn’t sure what he’s afraid of more: Makoto’s outright rejection or getting himself fired because of this unwanted wooing and unexpected revelation.

 

            “Makoto, say something,” he mutters, eyes squeezed forcefully close and his hands gather into fists on either side of Makoto.

 

            “I-I’m sorry, Haru,” the brunet chuckles, the tenseness still obvious in his timbre, a hand raised uncertainly to caress the other man’s cheekbone with his fingertip, the gesture incredibly gentle. “Please open your eyes.”

 

            Like a child who’s being shown a horror film, too fearful to crack open his eyes yet at the same time too wistful to keep them shut for so long lest he misses an important scene, Haruka is now in the same predicament.

 

            Makoto Tachibana is nothing like a horror film, but his kindness and the friendship he has come to offer during Haruka’s time working at Iwatobi Café are just as deadly.

 

            “I wasn’t going to say ‘no’,” he tells the dark-haired man and bending down so that his head is at the same level as the other man’s, the brunet swiftly plants a light kiss on Haruka’s cheek. At the warm contact of Makoto’s lips against his skin, Haruka blinks his eyes open, stunned azure irises stare back at the taller man who is smiling with a sort of slow-burning tenderness that’s gradually swallowing Haruka whole. “You just surprised me, Haru. You often do, actually. But before we proceed to anything else, I think you mentioned something about kissing?”

 

            Haruka grins, an expression not often seen on the usually stoic man, and it’s an endearing sight: all dimples and a tad bit of bashfulness. “I did.” With that, he leans forward and Makoto meets him mid-way, their lips touching faintly and cautious at first, as if they are still uncertain or afraid of scaring the other one off with something a little more passionate.

 

            When Haruka and Makoto both realize at about the same moment that neither one is going to run off, they let go of whatever inhibitions they might have had – doubt of unrequited feelings, possibilities of rejections, consequences of hurtful words – and they kiss in earnest, Haruka’s hands rest as a comforting weight on Makoto’s shoulders as Makoto wraps his arms securely around the shorter man’s waist.

 

The misty bitterness of dark chocolate and the swirling sweetness from the champagne still linger as a mild note that dances inside their mouths as their kisses deepen, Makoto biting Haruka’s lower lip lightly before soothing the slight sting with a flick of his tongue. His body shudders in response and Haruka can only pull the other man closer, his breaths hitching as Makoto lowers his head to kiss a trail down the side of his neck, alternating between nibbling and licking his skin there.

 

            Haruka is certain that there will be a scattering of red-purple bruises tomorrow that Nagisa will no doubt be asking about. But at this moment, he can care less. As Makoto hoists him up so that he’s sitting on the metal table and continues to kiss him breathless (he’ll need to remember to clean the surface with some bleach and water spray tomorrow before work starts), his legs wrap around Makoto’s hips in order to keep him as physically close as he can manage with their clothes on.

 

            To be honest, it’s getting more and more difficult for Haruka to keep his clothes on, with the air being sucked out of him, and Makoto clawing at the material of his t-shirt, snaking a hand underneath to touch the soft, warm skin of his lower back, and why is it so damn hot all of a sudden anyway?

 

            “M-Makoto…” Haruka groans, his name a low, guttural murmur, when the brunet’s fingers skim across a particularly sensitive spot near his hipbone.

 

            “Hmm?” The lively sea green of Makoto’s eyes swim back into Haruka’s vision, their foreheads touching. “What is it?”

 

            “Will… uh, will you go out on a date with me?” Haruka mumbles the question, the rapid-fire words almost blurring into one another.

 

            Makoto brushes his thumb delicately against the other man’s lower lip and watches with reverence the way Haruka’s tongue darts out a little to taste him.

 

            “I’d like that a lot,” Makoto smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he seals the promise with another kiss, though this one is brief and playful. At that response, Haruka grins brightly into the kiss, a pleasant and tender warmth spreading from the places where Makoto’s lips have touched and trickling deeper into his skin, and deeper still until he can’t reach.

 

Even so, Haruka knows the small flame will keep on burning as long as Makoto is by his side.

 

In each other’s arms, they will dive into this ocean of unknown sweetness together.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me tell you a little something: make-out scenes are ridiculously hard to write. Or maybe it’s just me. Ah, for some reason, that took me a week and a half to churn out. Not sure why it’s been so difficult to write this chapter. But there’ll most likely be a NSFW chapter coming up in the future.


End file.
